24. Augustus
TWENTY-FOUR
AUGUSTUS
April 26th, 2024
I finally let the beast out to play, and now it refuses to fold back into its cage. The need to tell her, claim her—mark her—is too much. My skin crawls with my pent-up rage and desire, and now that the monster has created a crack in my mask, there’s no more pushing him away.
The only thing I can do to protect this fragile bridge Stetson has offered me is retreating from her. It’s the last thing I want to do, but I don’t trust myself around her.
Not right now; I’m completely out of control.
She has yet to utter a word to me since we dropped Nathan off, which is just fine by me. Even Dale seems to sense the growing inferno inside the small pickup cab and keeps her rambling to a minimum. It’s eerily quiet—the kind of silence that happens right before a big storm, or an exploding bomb.
Which is a good analogy for this moment, because if I have to be around Stetson a moment longer, everything will come out—for better or worse. Even if I won’t let her go, regardless of how she responds, I’d rather she accept me from the beginning.
“Well, not that this isn’t riveting, but I think I’m going to head home.” Dale’s words slice through the tension as the truck engine rumbles to a stop. I don’t look over at Stetson, or even acknowledge Dale’s words—I bolt from the truck, slamming the door behind me.
I feel their eyes boring into my back as I take the front steps two at a time, and even once I’m behind the safety of the screen door, my chest heaving, I can feel the heat of their gazes. They think I’m crazy. Good, that’s a mild description of what I’m feeling.
I’m overflowing with both anger at Stetson and desire for her. Above all, I’m done sharing her. I don’t give a fuck if that’s controlling. I am controlling . And I’ve given her enough time, enough space. It’s time she learns who she belongs to, or at least part of the man she belongs to. I can’t control the beast tonight, not all the way.
When she falls asleep, I’m going to teach her another lesson. The kind of lesson that will show her the lengths I will go to claim her—even from behind my mask.
Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from growling, I step into her shadow-laced room, waiting for the sounds of her soft exhales to reach my ears. She is so pure and innocent like this—waiting for me to ruin her.
I can’t wait to defile her.
Slowly, on dirty sock-padded feet, I creep toward her bed, where she is lying on top of her pale green covers in nothing more than a long Shania Twain t-shirt with holes peppering over the front. With her chest rising and falling, I can see she isn’t wearing a bra, and the black lace thong she had frantically bought after I stole all her others does little to deter the imagination. It sits pinched between her two rounded pink pussy lips, and I know if I bend down, I will feel the heat wafting from her center around that thin fabric.
Her golden mane lays around her soft face in hectic strands, her eyelids fluttering with some dream, and her pink mouth is parted, a small strand of drool dribbling from the corner. I smile wickedly, a bolt of excitement tearing through me. This is beyond fucked up.
And I love it.
I’ve dreamed about having that mouth around my cock; seeing those pornographic lips part and suck me down, to feel her tongue lapping at the tip of my dick and the back of her throat, constricting as she swallows me whole. It’s a mix between a memory and a fantasy, and it drives me wild with need.
But tonight, a teaser will have to suffice; for a little while longer, anyway.
Quietly, I yank the zipper on my pants and push the worn denim fabric just far enough down to spring my already throbbing cock free from its cage. It’s red and angry, matching the murderous feelings coursing through my veins, a small droplet of pre-cum already budding at the tip.
I know I’m hot and sweaty, and no doubt taste filthy; a gentleman would clean himself before offering his cock to the woman he loved. But tonight, I’m no gentleman—I’m the monster—and something about her waking up with that taste in her mouth makes me feel wicked, powerful. I want her to know before she ever even sees the evidence of what I’ve done.
Stepping closer to her, I hold my breath as I dip the tip of my cock into the small trail of drool pooling by the side of her open mouth. My hands flex and squeeze around the base of my cock as I fight the overwhelming urge to shove hard and rough into her parted lips.
I will take whatever I need from her, and soon. It will be in the light of day, where she can see my face and just how wild she really makes me. Tonight however, I will settle for drool, an open mouth, and the thrill of a punishment I know she will secretly love. My Little Filly is filthy, and I’m obsessed with the need to pull those hidden desires out of her.
I stand over again, just as I did weeks ago, and pump my dick hard and fast, holding my balls with my free hand, both kneading them and keeping them from slapping against the flesh of my leg. The thrill of not knowing whether she will wake up is almost enough to make me bust within two pulls.
Pulling out my burner phone from my back pocket, I line up the red angry tip of my cock with the hole between her lips, pushing it slightly inside. The hot, moist air of her mouth sends a bolt of fire up my cock, and I tip my head back to stare at the ceiling. I suck in sharp breaths and squeeze my dick unbearably tighter; I have to maintain control.
But fucking Stetson. Everything about her makes me lose my mind. I’ve never been further out of control than when I’m around her. And it’s thrilling.
Breathing heavily, I stare back down at the phone in my hand, trying to steady my breathing enough to get a clear view.
My dick is only an inch inside her pouty lips, slightly glistening with her drool and the rays of the moonlight streaming through the window, when I snap the picture. It’s so fucking perfect I want to frame the damn thing.
Someday, I will.
Now that I’ve completed my first task, I tuck the phone back into my pocket and re-grip my balls. Kneading and tugging at the skin, my other hand pumping over the shaft has my arms straining, the veins protruding from the skin. I lean over, a bead of my own spit falling across the shaft, and I smear it along my length. I groan and then bite down on my cheek as Stetson rolls toward me, smacking her lips slightly before parting them once more.
I thrust my hips forward, fucking my clenched fist, my balls and cock aching from the punishing grip. I grip harder, strangling them, as I imagine how tight her throat will be around my swollen cock; how fucking tight her pussy will be milking my dick. My eyes roll back into my head, the familiar heat of release gathering at the base of my spine. Stetson has no idea of the crimes I am committing to, and for, her right this moment. Something about how filthy that is makes me erupt.
My cum spurts out, white ribbons of my need painting her hair, her cheek, her lips. Aiming as carefully as my reeling mind can, I shoot the streams of seed into her open mouth, silently groaning when several drops land in the black hole between her lips. It’s a lot of fucking cum, even for me, and then she swallows, closing her mouth around the tip of my dick. I stall, holding my breath painfully inside my raging chest.
What will happen if she wakes up?
Heart pounding frantically, the seconds tick by, and I wonder if this is the moment I’ve both prayed for and dreaded, crafted with my own hands and followed fate to find. If she wakes up, I don’t care what I have to do, I will fucking take her.
She finally smacks her lips, rolling onto her back once more, and flings her arm over her face. I cringe as her hand lands in the streams of wet come. I need to get out of here, unless this is the moment I want her to find out all my secrets. This is getting too risky, even for me.
“Fuck.” It’s a ragged whisper, but the only fitting word to describe this moment. My legs are still trembling, hands shaking, as I reach into my pocket and snap a second picture. This one of her painted in my desire; the tip of my cock signed into the bottom corner.
Now that is the one I need to fucking frame. It’s a goddamn work of art, my best, and I will get it printed and framed for our room.
I silently stuff my cock back into my jeans, not bothering to zip them back up, and slink back out of the room. I need to get out of the house, in case she wakes up. She’d see my heaving chest, my crazed eyes, and tousled hair, and she’d know. There’s no way I can fake that I was asleep this time. Last time, when I ran into her in the hallway, I knew she didn’t buy my coverup, even if she wanted to. She’s too smart, but she’s also too much of a coward to see what is right in front of her. I will continue to use that to my advantage until I can’t stand it a second longer.
Not bothering to grab a shirt, I stumble to my truck and jump inside. I have no idea where I will go, but I fire up the engine anyway. Once I’m on the main road, I open up the burner phone and send her a text, my artwork included.